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Posted with permission from Bard_Bloom.
16 years ago
Being taught to avoid talking about Politics and Religion has led to a lack of understanding of Politics and Religion. What we should have been taught was how to have a civil conversation about a difficult topic.
A birthday is a good time to contemplate one's mortality. Today's meditation thereupon is inspired by Sarah Palin's latest bit of idiocy.
[Scene: a dim and dismal room, windowless, all but lightless, smelling of fear and administrative woe. A portrait of Barack Obama is flanked by two American flags on one wall. In front of it sit three masked figures in stern posture. Mr. Whingio enters, trembling.]
Mr. Whingio:"Um ... excuse me ... is this the Death Panel?"
Dr. Doom:"Good day, applicant. Yes. We are the Panel ... of Death."
Mr. Whingio:"Oh, good, I'm in the right place. I'm Mr. Earnest Whingio, and I have a 9:00 appointment."
Brax the Devastator:"You are late, Mr. Whingio."
Mr. Whingio:"Only seven minutes ... I missed a bus..."
The Dread Garue:"And for this you believe you will be permitted to die?"
Mr. Whingio:"No..."
Brax the Devastator:"Each case is given the most careful and detailed attention. If you cut your session short, how do you expect us to arrive at a well-considered decision? You may make us hasty, Mr. Whingio. You would not like us to be hasty, would you, Mr. Whingio?"
Mr. Whingio:"No ... It's not for me, anyhow, Sir. It's for my wife."
Dr. Doom:"Is that supposed to amuse us, Mr. Whingio? Is your marriage so unendurable that you consult with the Death Board rather than a divorce lawyer?"
Mr. Whingio:"Actually, she's got stage-3 bone cancer, level-4 diabetes, and a Type-V demon chasing her from her old D&D days."
Brax the Devastator:"So you say, Mr. Whingio. So you say."
Mr. Whingio:"Well, it's true. I have supporting statements from her doctor."
The Dread Garue:"I have inspected these so-called supporting statements. This doctor, Mr. Whingio, graduated second-to-last in his class from the Florida School for the Medically Inclined. He did not actually take the End of Life class. He audited it. The professor reports that he attended precisely three sessions, and fell asleep in the third one."
Mr. Whingio:"I ... I didn't know."
The Dread Garue:"Do you expect us to take the claims of such a man seriously? Absurd, Mr. Whingio. Simply absurd."
Mr. Whingo:"Well, we saw a specialist."
Brax the Devastator:"You saw a podiatrist, Mr. Whingio."
Mr. Whingio:"Is that what she was?"
Dr. Doom:"Her report primarily concerns your wife's improper adduction angle of the hallux."
Mr. Whingio:"Yes, yes, that's the demon."
Dr. Doom:"It is the big toe, Mr. Whingio."
Mr. Whingio:"... oh ..."
Dr. Doom:"This application is utterly without merit. I summarily deny it. You may not apply to this or any other Death Panel -- on your own behalf or the behalf of any other person -- for two years from this date. If your wife wishes to die, Mr. Whingio, she shall have to manage it without federal support. Dismissed."
[Mr. Whingio exits, shaking.]
[Scene: a dim and dismal room, windowless, all but lightless, smelling of fear and administrative woe. A portrait of Barack Obama is flanked by two American flags on one wall. In front of it sit three masked figures in stern posture. Mr. Whingio enters, trembling.]
Mr. Whingio:"Um ... excuse me ... is this the Death Panel?"
Dr. Doom:"Good day, applicant. Yes. We are the Panel ... of Death."
Mr. Whingio:"Oh, good, I'm in the right place. I'm Mr. Earnest Whingio, and I have a 9:00 appointment."
Brax the Devastator:"You are late, Mr. Whingio."
Mr. Whingio:"Only seven minutes ... I missed a bus..."
The Dread Garue:"And for this you believe you will be permitted to die?"
Mr. Whingio:"No..."
Brax the Devastator:"Each case is given the most careful and detailed attention. If you cut your session short, how do you expect us to arrive at a well-considered decision? You may make us hasty, Mr. Whingio. You would not like us to be hasty, would you, Mr. Whingio?"
Mr. Whingio:"No ... It's not for me, anyhow, Sir. It's for my wife."
Dr. Doom:"Is that supposed to amuse us, Mr. Whingio? Is your marriage so unendurable that you consult with the Death Board rather than a divorce lawyer?"
Mr. Whingio:"Actually, she's got stage-3 bone cancer, level-4 diabetes, and a Type-V demon chasing her from her old D&D days."
Brax the Devastator:"So you say, Mr. Whingio. So you say."
Mr. Whingio:"Well, it's true. I have supporting statements from her doctor."
The Dread Garue:"I have inspected these so-called supporting statements. This doctor, Mr. Whingio, graduated second-to-last in his class from the Florida School for the Medically Inclined. He did not actually take the End of Life class. He audited it. The professor reports that he attended precisely three sessions, and fell asleep in the third one."
Mr. Whingio:"I ... I didn't know."
The Dread Garue:"Do you expect us to take the claims of such a man seriously? Absurd, Mr. Whingio. Simply absurd."
Mr. Whingo:"Well, we saw a specialist."
Brax the Devastator:"You saw a podiatrist, Mr. Whingio."
Mr. Whingio:"Is that what she was?"
Dr. Doom:"Her report primarily concerns your wife's improper adduction angle of the hallux."
Mr. Whingio:"Yes, yes, that's the demon."
Dr. Doom:"It is the big toe, Mr. Whingio."
Mr. Whingio:"... oh ..."
Dr. Doom:"This application is utterly without merit. I summarily deny it. You may not apply to this or any other Death Panel -- on your own behalf or the behalf of any other person -- for two years from this date. If your wife wishes to die, Mr. Whingio, she shall have to manage it without federal support. Dismissed."
[Mr. Whingio exits, shaking.]
